Break All Ties

Chapter Seventeen

Benito Pesci might've- by some miracle- lived to the end of the day had he not addressed me by the one nickname Assante had reserved for me. Assante was a possessive man and didn't take kindly to that usage. He didn't like to share.

When he'd come down from his anger high, we both stared in the direction Benito had last been standing.

My second dead body in two weeks. I'd gone three years without.

I was going bad, like a bad egg. I'd enjoyed the game until someone died. I shouldn't have enjoyed it all.

Maybe I wasn't going bad. Maybe it was always in me. Maybe it was like a dormant gene, waiting for something just as bad to come along and wake it up.

Realistically, I shouldn't have felt bad. Philosophy dependent. There were details to this. Intricate little details that came with all things of a criminal nature. Benito Pesci had once been a mass murderer. Now, he'd been murdered.

The details were hard to wrap my head around.

Lorenzo gave my side a small, comforting squeeze.

In that moment, there'd been no coming down from his possessive anger. There was awareness, because he'd had the sense to push me out of the way.

I feared I was growing used to the taste of death.

"Put some clothes on," Lorenzo said, squeezing my side. "When you're dressed, go up to the deck and sit with Turtle. I'll sort the body out."

I nodded, lips pursed. "Assante?" He met my gaze. His green eyes were swirling. I'd read online once that green eyes could darken with emotion. "This isn't going to be an everyday thing, is it? The whole killing people thing."

"When people learn not to mess with you..."

I nodded, a lump in my throat.

Not exactly comforting.

The mafia was a world with rules, but I could remember people challenging them. They'd bend the rules for the thrill and see how far they could push them. There were people that spoke their verbal disagreement, like Alfonzo Rossi, who'd refer to me as if I was some sort of feral dog that needed to be tamed. Then there were people like Kinsey, who were intentionally aggressive with me to see how far they could mess things about without Assante losing his shit.

Then there were the nicknames, like blonde bitch and blonde slut.

If Assante was waiting for people to 'learn' to draw back on the violence, then bloodbaths were something I'd have to get used to.

"Come on Bellezza," He gave my side another squeeze and rose to a stand, crossing the room towards his own clothes. "No more thinking. Get dressed and head up to the deck."

I did as told, pulling on some leggings. I didn't bother to change out of his crimson dress shirt. It was comfortable. Not to mention his smell that clung to it.

I headed up to the deck where Turtle sat at the front of the boat.

It was around midday now. Rays of sun washed down on the waves, bathing the green.

I sunk down beside him and drew my legs to my chest.

"Turtle, right?"

"Yes, signora."

"Why do they call you Turtle if your name's Donatello?"

"Because I'm a ninja."

He smiled over at me, tying a knot in a rope.

"I heard a bang," Turtle said, his words laced by his thick Italian accent. "Did something happen?"

"Yeah, uh—Lorenzo, he uh... Benito's..."